


I come with knives

by Masterofkarate



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Blood, Cutting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, This is potentially v triggering please be careful, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 16:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19406839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterofkarate/pseuds/Masterofkarate
Summary: Dennis self harms, Mac catches him, it's not cute or romantic just mad and sad.Obviously triggering,  please be careful!!!





	I come with knives

**Author's Note:**

> hey, potentially very triggering, so please be careful!!! 
> 
> (Numbers are American based)  
> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual assault hotline: 1-800-656-4673
> 
> If you feel unsafe, please call 911, drive to your nearest crisis center or ER, or reach out to a loved one.
> 
> \-----  
> "I never promised you an open heart or charity  
> I never wanted to abuse your imagination"
> 
> \- I Come with Knives by Chris Corner (which us on my macdennis playlisy)

Dennis was fucking furious with himself the second he realized what he'd done, even more furious when he realized how little it did for him. He didn't want much, just to feel something real, maybe even cry a little- although that would have been a bonus.

But no, he went and ruined the one thing he had going for him, which was looking good. Not just in the sense of being attractive, although that much was true. But Dennis was good at making himself look normal, almost happy. What a pathetic talent, but it's all Dennis had to cling to. And here he was, fucking that up.

When he started out today, he wasn't an idiot. He furiously scratched at his thighs. But that had provided no relief. Then he reached for a small blade buried deep in his bedside table for this exact reason. Right back to his thigh. Still, no relief.

He knew what he wanted, but he didn't want to sink that low. He thought about being a teenager, what he did to hide it. His upper arm, right below his shoulder. A little more obvious, but not terrible. Still unsatisfying.

And then like a stupid fucking idiot he took the blade to his forearm. One cut was all it took for Dennis to regret the hell out of it. Not a  _ boohoo I'm so sad it's come to this _ sort of sad, but a  _ I'm an idiot & everybody's going to fucking know  _ kind of sad. Which made him even more frustrated, he didn't even get a goddamn second of genuine emotion out of this. Fuck, he really was an idiot.

And of course this one was deeper than the attempts on his thigh and upper arm. Of fucking course. He immediately got a tissue and held it to his forearm, not wanting to bleed all over the goddamn place. He hated himself for having done this in the summer. It's always the summer time.

He's not stupid enough to ask himself why. No point in digging through ancient trauma, he knew why. June always smelled of dusty libraries and stale beer. He could remember the first time he'd done this, on his thighs, hoping if anybody tried to bang him they'd see the scars and back off, either pitying him or disgusted by him. It didn't work. 

He pulled the tissue off after not enough time, surprised for some reason that he was still bleeding. He felt a small trickle of blood from his upper arm slide down to his elbow. FUCK. He was a fucking idiot. In fear of getting blood on his duvet, he wiped the blood on his upper arm with his hand and hurried to his bathroom. He rinsed the drying red stains on his skin with water and toilet paper and then furiously searched for something to clean himself with and some large bandaids. 

And then he remembered Mac had moved everything out of his bathroom when he moved back to Philly. Dennis refused to talk about what happened with his other family, but he saw all of the things he'd used to clean and cover his self harm in the past in the shared bathroom.

_ "Why did you go through my shit?" he asked Mac one night when he was a miserable, lonely drunk. _

_ "The less temptation the better," Mac answered, not looking up from his phone, pretending to be unphased. _

_ "You don't control me, Mac! Plus, I don't do dumb shit like that, what am I, in high school?" Dennis shouted, stomping until he towered over Mac, who stayed seated on the couch.  _

_ "You're not okay, Den, I'm worried." _

_ "I'm fine! I've never been better!" _

_ "I'm not an idiot." _

_ Mac stayed soft and gentle while Dennis kept yelling at him until he slammed his bedroom door and passed out without an apology. But Dennis didn't move his stuff the next morning because despite refusing to admit it, Mac was right. _

But now he was here and it didn't matter how little or how much temptation there was, it already happened and he couldn't clean himself up because of fucking Mac. 

He stormed to the main bathroom, assuming Mac was asleep. He started shuffling through the cabinet, furious. He wasn't even sure what he should do to clean himself up.

Dennis was good at  _ looking  _ good, not actually being safe or healthy. That's what Mac is good at.

And as if summoned, a soft-haired, squinty-eyed Mac appeared, pale and jacked arm supporting himself against the frame of the half-opened door.

"Den?" he asked in a quiet, gruff voice, as if announcing he's been woken up by the commotion. "What happened?"

Dennis looked down at his arm with a scoffed, dabbing it with toilet paper. He shook his head and answered with a smile, "Agent Jack Bauer appeared in my room out of nowhere just to attack me."

"That's not funny. Are you okay?" Mac asked, crossing the bathroom, standing in front of Dennis.

Towering over Dennis, cornering Dennis- at lead that's how it felt to Dennis.

"Why the fuck do you keep asking stupid questions that you don't want the answer to?" Dennis asked, glaring up at Mac.

"I'm just worried," Mac said, he dropped to his knee in front of Dennis and gently took Dennis' left hand by the fingertips, ready to inspect the wound.

Dennis recoiled at the touch, pulling his arm- still covered with a layer of rough toilet paper- to his torso. He stomped both of his feet to the floor and stood, now he was towering over Mac. 

Mac shuffled to his feet quickly, standing chest to chest with Dennis.

"You're not worried," Dennis said much too loudly for the distance (or lack thereof). "You're fucking disgusting Mac, you know that?"

"I'm disgusting?" Mac huffed, shuffling back a step. 

"Yes! You see me like this, think I'm vulnerable, think I'm weak, that you can manipulate me,  _ use _ me!" Dennis shouted. He gave Mac a shove. Not enough to move him at all, just enough to make a statement, before sidesteppin away, getting out of his cornered in spot. "I am not weak, Mac. I'm a fucking God!"

"I'm not trying to use you, Dennis. You're my best friend, and you're more fucked up than you've ever been. I am worried," Mac said, punctuating the words in his last sentence pointedly.

"Don't give me that bullshit," Dennis mumbled. "Fuck this and fuck you, I'm going to bed."

And he hurried to his bedroom, deciding a bloody and rough piece of toilet paper was the best version of dressing his wound for tonight. Tomorrow, he would wake up early and slap a huge bandaid on his forearm, he'd lie and say he burnt himself cooking. Mac would know the truth, Dee would too. Charlie may question it, Frank wouldn't notice. Nobody would mention it.

He waited for Mac to follow him to his bedroom, to knock on the door with some pathetic apology, as if Mac really was the one in the wrong. Dennis would have yelled at him if he did. But he didn't, so Dennis yelled into his pillow.

After way too long of yelling and smacking and kicking different shit in his room, he collapsed on the bed. He wished he could have cried himself to sleep, but tonight really was pointless. He didn't feel anything other than rage, which was a normal emotion in his repertoire of the few feelings he felt consistently. 

Without crying, he pulled the duvet over himself, ignoring the stale June heat in his bedroom. Under the blanket, he stared at the darkness, not noticing when his eyelids closed, until he fell into an unrestful sleep.


End file.
